


Beyond Death

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-30
Updated: 2010-08-30
Packaged: 2019-01-19 21:03:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12418113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Death is supposed to be the end.Right?For Lily and James Potter, there is more than just death. For in heaven, everyday is a fight to survive being gone from the world where they lived. It becomes clear that to be with their son, Lily Potter would do anything, even sacrifice her soul, to see him again.





	Beyond Death

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

                                                                                    _Chapter 1_

_Oblivion_

There are a great many curiosities I have come to witness.

    One is the mastered art of spontaniety. I have long since stopped being surprised at the accuracy with which a stranger might come to terms with your inner being; or how easily one might come to love when no love or attraction prior to has existed. 

    Such bases were the foundation of my life. They formed little concrete bricks, making my world a square room. Not too terribly large, and as such never allowing me to feel as if I could not explore myself. Though, contrarily, not too terribly small, telling me that I am such a lost cause as to wait and waste away, feeling trapped in an area too small to ever feel comfortable in. I was one of those that has come to live life so fully content that I might not ever wish to leave the safe haven I called my mind.

    I often felt as though there was a world waiting for me. Never a void, oh no; much more of a peculiar place that was entirely and unchangeably mine. Such a place existed entirely in my mind. It thrived there, a secret woodland that only I might be permitted to bask in its wonders. 

    I never truly felt old. I never got to see James beside me, laughing with our son, lines on his face and graying hair. I never saw the heady red of my own locks recede to a duller color. I never properly watched Harry grow and I never, not once, was permitted to hold him like holding him should feel. 

    I was permitted to spend only my alotted hours with him really there beside me. I still don't know if this was substantial or even if I spent my time wisely. 

    It was all too odd in my mind sometimes for comprehension. The way that I let the air fill my lungs as though I might never leave its presence. The way that I always took my life and my love as a given. I was too young and my naievete was such that its strengtj cannot be accurately measured. There was not much to fear, for what can be feared, with perfect child, perfect husband, perfect life? I was not there enough to really stand on solid ground and not gone enough to really ever fade. Because we are really only allowed to grace this soil for so long before we let a new batch pass on to the earth that we so carelessly tread our pains into. We go beyond, where we are not living but being all the same. I think maybe, the casing that we carry is just weight. It ties us down to mortality. In the end, we can really only go so far as to stand above and watch those who grace the earth in our place. Once all that can be thought to be said has been expressed; everything worth mention has been uttered; all that can fit into our time is long since expired; we too must disappear, our purpose gone. 

    I don't know if it is truly possible to ever know what comes beyond before it does. 

    But I know, so deeply, that we can't ever be afraid in our final moment. There is one second before we are oblivion. 

    How we spend that sparse second is our disgretion. It is our choice. 

    I always planned to spend mine wisely. 

    I think I might have succeeded, or come very nearly, though quite often I entertain a strained thought that I solved less problems than I caused. 

    Though maybe, the smily unfeeling wretches that patrol the ground bring unto themselves what they have so hoped to cause others to suffer for. 

    If this is true, then I hope the poor unresting soul of Tom Riddle might finally have remorse and might finally realize his doom was only a matter of how long he can postpone his fate with the suffering of others. 

    I figured it would not be too hard to go. I wonder if it was simply my wishes that it wasn't. I wonder if I might have been in the right, though I cannot remember clearly enough to make any affirmations. 

    So like crystal in my memory, though, is the night that brought upon me this great suffering. 

    It was a merry evening enough, beautiful though the skies were gray and lovely though the sun was bleak. I couldn't hope for more: the blessings of my life, one to comfort each side of me and enough to fill my heart which was fit to burst with pleasure. James and Harry, both little marauders and gorgeous dreamers. 

    "He's going to be just like you," I told James. "I know it. See how he flies on the broom Sirius gave him? And look, he's got the same smile."

    "No, more like you," he countered, "because the eyes are the window to the soul. And he has your beautiful windows."

    I looked into Harry's eyes, a shade of green like a dew-splattered leaf. "He does," I murmered. "My eyes." And my wonderful little boy dimpled at me, his wide cheeks flush and his black hair making his face alight. "My sweet little Harry," I crooned and he giggled, those eyes just a beacon. _Love me, love me._ How could anyone not? This adorable child, beaming and brilliantly finding ways to make my heart sing. 

    "A beautiful soul he has indeed," said James, smiling, drinking up Harry's perfect appearance. It was almost as if he knew he would have so little time left to look at him. 

    James took me in his arms, sighing. "I never imagined my life like this," he said as though it was ordinary conversation. "So perfect, don't you think?"

    "What with all that's happening," I replided, trying not to swoon from the force of his gaze.

    "Lily, think about it. Beautiful little boy, beautiful wife, wonderful home, something to _do_ with my life, it's almost like a fantasy. I've never dreamed of it but that makes it all the better, don't you think?"

    "Of course. I never thought it would happen like this--but it makes me even more glad that it did. It's no fun getting your dreams when your real dream you passed up, just because you wanted something else."

    "Come, love, let us dance!" and James spun me around our kitchen, his eyes ablaze and my heart feeling as though it belonged. 

    Harry stood on his feeble little legs. He giggled joyously and his hands clapped themselves together. James and I spun, laughing and smiling. He drew me close and we waltzed, and then quite suddenly he switched to a reel. No music but the sound of our harmonies of laughing: his deep, harmodious one; my trill of a thing; and Harry's brilliant little giggle that couldn't help but make me laugh more. We danced our heart out that night, feeling like the picture would never house evil. We were at a standstill, forever so vain and forever so content. 

    James kissed me theatrically, a little peck but too passionate to ignore. We twirled on the spot. There was not a care to be harbored. 

    Our wild dance ended too soon. Almost as though that day was just a brilliantly vivid dream that I had carelessly happened upon but never appreciated, Harry was whisked into his crib and me and James standing in our bedroom, going about our nighttime routine. 

    "Lovely Lily," said James unexpectedly. He dropped his pajamas upon to floor and once more drew me close. "Lovely Lily," and he kissed me like I had never been kissed before, not once. The moment felt as though it were never to be broken, just his lips on mine and his tongue lusciously grazing my teeth. "James," I whispered, and the feel of his passion was too complete to be able to contain. "Oh, James..."

    A thing so pure as what we shared, alone, kept secret in our bedroom, should never be disturbed. 

   And being of that malevolent nature, it was exactly this glorious time that awful occurrances came too fast to keep inside. 

   "Let's go check on Harry," said James, and he grabbed my elbow, tearing up the stairs. 

    The child was not sleeping, but lying awake. At the sight of us he brightened, his smile something that could challenge the sun. 

    "How is my darling boy?" I asked, and we began amusing him, little puffs of smoke that changed color as they drifted through the air emanating from James's wand. 

    Harry smiled and laughed, and I forgot about anything unpleasant. Our little family stood in Harry's bedroom. James kept hiding in the hood of his cloak, then suddenly appearing. This made Harry's giggles come to an uproar. I could not contain my enjoyment. The sudden but final decision to check on our son came to a pleasant conclusion. Colored lights danced around the room, flickering like good-natured flames on the walls. 

    And that was when things happened too fast to really grasp. 

    There was a wretched snap inside of my chest. _Wild, uncontrolled...fear...killlllll...._

    "He's coming," whispered James, and I could feel it too: the Fidelius Charm had been broken. 

    "What--how..."

    "I know it Lily, he's here."

     My hand flew to my mouth. "Oh my God." And the part that ripped sanity from my mind was that I could _feel_ it: I could feel death like a tangible entity suppressing my will to live. Seconds, minutes...it would all come down to a wand and a flash of light...

    "Stay here with Harry! I'll hold him off!" And James disappeared. His wand lay where he had set it down to amuse Harry with the cloak, but it was too late to reverse his folly. 

    I heard nothing, just a devastating silence. The air wavered around me. I picked up Harry, my long hair shielding him from the outside world. I held him close to my breast, cradling him to me. Motherly instinct was my last defense. 

    I wasn't ready for what came next. Though, in theory, nobody is ever ready, not really.

    Lord Voldemort stormed into my son's bedroom. 

    The accursed, the feared; the man I had been fighting to hold off.

    Here to kill my son. He would take his life and he would tear it into shreds. 

    I set Harry down in his crib, flinging my arms wide in front of it. If he could not get me to move... Wormy... Wormy would come, I knew it...

    "Step aside, girl," and his awful red eyes were like poison rubies. 

    "PLEASE, NOT HARRY!" I screamed. "Not Harry, I beg of you, PLEASE!"

    "I said _step aside,"_ and those terrifying, long fingers toyed with a wand. 

    I had not alotted time to be afraid for myself. I was paralyzed, oh yes, petrified beyond my worst nightmare. But I could not condone the mutilating of my son's life. More than I feared my obliteration, my will to leave my son alive and untainted was a glowing force. It was a fire that could never leave me. 

    "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" and my scream was a shrill cut in the air where its knife stabbed the night. 

    Voldemort had raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra," and the fateful words sent me rocketing, sent me falling, sent me disappearing. The words made me become true oblvion. 

    As I had my last glimpse of the world, I looked upon my perfect child, despereately employing an orison so that he might, at least, remain alive. Alive, which my husband was not: he was a heap on the floor, the protecter of Harry, and my valiant hero...Forever gone...

    Just like me.


End file.
